Edward and the Dragon
by Twisted Twilight Tales
Summary: The reward? One hundred pieces of gold and the hand of the King's daughter in marriage.  The quest?  Slay the dragon and bring the Princess home.


"Twisted Twilight Tales" O/S Contest

Fairy Tale Chosen: The Frog Prince

Title: Edward and the Dragon

Word Count: 14,831

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Edward/Bella

Summary: The reward? One hundred pieces of gold and the hand of the King's daughter in marriage. The quest? Slay the dragon and bring the Princess home. Edward stared at the drawing of the dragon on the posting, then turned away. Dragons, he knew, were far more beautiful.

Disclaimer: Neither Twilight nor the Grimm Brothers tales belong to me - I'm just twisting them into something a little different.

. . .

_One hundred pieces of gold. _

Edward stared at the piece of parchment tacked to the post in the center of the town square, the ink slightly worn and smeared from the many hands that had touched the almost unimaginable sum. He read the posting again.

_Hear ye, all men of valor and strength. _

_Knights and hunters alike, the King offers the sum of _

_one hundred pieces of gold, _

_permanent residence in the King's Court, _

_and the hand of his daughter _

_to whoever may slay the dragon and rescue her. _

The etching below was almost laughable, a creature that looked like an oversized version of the lizards that sunned themselves beside the river at noon, but with the wings of a sparrow, the teeth of a bear, and a jet of fire issuing from its mouth.

Dragons didn't look like that, Edward knew. Dragons were far more beautiful.

. . .

It was the summer of his eighth year when Edward first met the dragon. His mother and father lived on the outskirts of the village then, nestled at the edge of the forest, and his father, a revered huntsman, kept them well-fed and secure. Their home was small, but a place of warmth and love that his mother tended to with care.

Edward would not realize how rare that security and love was until the next year, when it was gone.

But that summer, things were as they had always been, as he had always known them. Their village was quiet and small, and the most excitement since the spring thaw was the arrival of a stranger just as the first blooms of summer appeared. The man bore the seal of the King, and had tacked up a notice in the village square on his arrival, forbidding hunting and exploration in a certain portion of the forest.

As he lay in bed, Edward heard his mother and father discussing the stranger, how fine his garments were and how he stayed in an old hunting lodge that had been nearly abandoned far into the forest, rather than at the keep that housed the lord who ruled their village. The tavern gossip had been that the man was sent by the King to look for a rare bird said to nest in the forest outside the village. But no one had ever seen the oddly plumed creature the man described. Edward's father was little concerned at the ban, for it was not the prime hunting grounds he frequented, but he warned Edward to stay away from that section of the forest.

Such a warning was a necessity, as Edward loved to wander the forest and by his eighth birthday had learned from his father how to navigate among the tall trees and lush foliage that carpeted the woods surrounding their home. He'd all but forgotten the decree until one afternoon, weeks later, when walking deep in the forest he noticed a small plume of smoke rising above the treetops and realized that he must be near the royal hunting lodge where the man stayed. He turned quickly, knowing his father would be angry at him if he were caught where he'd been told not to go. Veering off the path, he heard rustling in the bushes behind him.

After a few moments frantic run, dodging and weaving his small body among the foliage that screened him, he burst into a clearing. He stopped still, for it was like nothing he had ever seen. The trees circled the space, filled with tall grass and the bluebells that his village was known for, as though protecting such a beautiful area. He stepped forward into the stalks nearly waist high, his fingers catching on the green bits that waved in the wind, and laughed with delight until he noticed across the opening a swaying of the grass that moved deliberately closer towards him.

And then Edward saw the dragon.

It was small, barely larger than the pup his father had brought home for him the past winter, and it gamboled about the clearing much like the dog when it wished to play. Edward found himself transfixed by the creature that was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Lithe, its delicate neck rose gracefully above a compact body covered in scales that seemed to glow like a thousand jewels. Once, when his father had taken him to the Capitol to sell a stock of furs, Edward had seen a strange bird in the market with feathers of deep blues and greens and purples that his father had called a peacock. He'd never forgotten those vivid hues, but the dragon before him put even those shades to shame as it glistened in the sunlight. Its wings were small, tucked along its back and only fluttering open now and again as it stretched itself in the warmth of the meadow.

Perhaps if he'd been older, he'd have known to be afraid. But the dragons he'd been told about were always painted as massive creatures, enormous, deadly, and frightening. Not a small, funny, beautiful thing that caught his eye, its mouth edging up in something that resembled a smile as it watched him frozen at the edge of the clearing. With a flick of its tail, it cocked its head and raced away, glancing over its shoulder as though in invitation to play, before turning and waiting.

He stepped forward into the clearing, just a step, and the creature cocked its head again, eyes bright and tail whipping from side to side as it watched him. He took another, and it threw back its head, bouncing to its feet and scampering in a circle of excitement before trotting towards him. And before he knew it, he was laughing and playing with the tiny dragon, racing it about the field, chuckling at its attempts to balance on its two back legs, then collapsing beside it as the sun began to dip low. The dragon sat and looked at him with large honey brown eyes tinged at the edges with gold, so alive and alert he almost felt as though it could read his mind.

That day marked the first of many that summer when he would slip off through the woods, feet quiet on paths few knew of as he hurried towards the clearing. There were days when he'd emerge to find it empty, with only the sounds of the forest breaking the silence. On others, he'd find the dragon waiting, perched at the edge of the clearing as though biding its time until he arrived and greeting him with a soft chirping noise that seemed too soft and quiet for such a creature.

He told no one of the dragon that summer, not even his mother or father. Dragons had not been seen in the kingdom for many years, but stories of them were the stuff used to strike fear into the hearts of wayward children. He'd heard the tales of how the dragons would come, breathing fire as they swooped overhead of a village, snatching up those unlucky enough to be in their path in fearsome claws to carry back to dank lairs and devour.

But the small thing he played with in the meadow seemed so harmless and so lonely, so unlike the stories. Despite the small wings it would flutter from time to time creating a soft breeze, the little dragon was unable to fly, although Edward had concocted the less than brilliant solution of trying to teach it to do so and spent many afternoons flapping his arms and racing the dragon through the grass. And there were no flames from the dragon's mouth, only teeth that were less frightening than those found in any hound in the village.

Edward knew what would happen if he told someone. They would hunt the small creature and kill it, regardless of how defenseless and beautiful it was. He couldn't bear the thought, for that summer, the small dragon had become his friend.

. . .

When fall came that year, things began to change in the village. The man who'd come from the King's Court to unsuccessfully hunt for the mysterious bird took down the edict forbidding the villagers from roaming in that certain portion of the forest. Departing the hunting camp deep within the woods shortly after the first frost, his large coach trundled away with all of the paraphernalia he'd brought with him. Shortly thereafter, the old lord, who'd ruled the village with benign neglect for all of Edward's life, died in his sleep, leaving the keep empty as the old lord's son, Sir Carlisle, remained away in the service of the King's Guard.

And worst of all, that fall was when the hordes to the west began the Great Uprising, and his father, despite his previous years of service and age, was called upon again to fight for the King. The image of his father, tall and strong, his bow strapped to his back and his sword sheathed at his side as he pulled his weeping mother in for a kiss was forever burned into his memory, just as were the words he'd whispered to Edward when he'd pulled him in for one final embrace. "Care for your mother, son, until I return. You are my brave, strong boy."

Edward tried to heed those words throughout that endless winter. The snows piled high and the wind swept cold around the small house, but Edward diligently carried the small bow his father had made for him and hunted for what little game still roamed the forest. From time to time he'd gone back to the clearing, now desolate and dead without the tall grasses that filled it in the summer, but there was never a sign of the dragon.

As the first signs of spring emerged and the warming rays of the sun grew longer, thawing the banks of snow and flooding the rivers with torrents of water, a lightness settled over the village. News came of success at the front of the far away war that hardly seemed real, but for the men absent from home. Edward knew that for his mother, however, even the blossoming of the first green shoots in her garden could not lift her spirits. She moved about the house as if in a dream, starting each time someone came to the door to buy cheese or milk, and spending long hours each evening staring into the firelight as she rocked by the fire. Edward knew that she longed for the return of his father, as did he.

Then one day, there was a knock on the door that his mother did not rush to answer.

From the window, he could see the lone horse that bore the insignia of Sir Carlisle, and even for a boy so young, he understood. Leaving his mother weeping in her chair, he silently answered the door to find the lord standing before him, his father's sword and bow in his hands.

The loss of his father settled over their house that had once seemed so snug and warm tucked away beside the forest. Edward spent days roaming the woods, longing to feel his father's firm hand on his shoulder as he showed him how to find the tracks of game, or why the leaves of the tree turned just so into the sunlight. His mother grew quieter and more withdrawn, the light that had always been in her eyes slowly slipping away. It was with a heavy heart, but little surprise, that Edward went to wake his mother one morning and found her stiff and cold to his touch. The village physician simply shook his head and said that she'd died of a broken heart.

With no other family in the village, he'd been unsure where he would go or what he would do, until Sir Carlisle had knocked on the door of the small house after his mother's burial and directed Edward to pack his belongings and come with him.

. . .

Life at the keep had been an excellent distraction for a boy with a grieving heart. Sir Carlisle was a kind man, who seemed to understand that Edward needed something to occupy his time. So his training as a squire began, despite his humble roots. His father, for all his skills, had not been a knight, and Edward knew that the lord was supposed to take the son of another knight as his squire, rather than some orphan boy. So he threw himself into his work wholeheartedly, determined that Sir Carlisle's armor would shine, and that he would never regret his decision to take him in.

As the years passed, Edward's life developed a sameness. Carlisle insisted that he be educated along with some of the other village children whose families had the means to employ a tutor, and he soon shared a fondness for the written word with Carlisle. As he grew taller and stronger, Carlisle began to show him how to handle his father's sword and shield. He had his daily tasks and duties that he carried out with an eye to perfection, hoping to never displease the benefactor who had become almost a father to him.

But life in the keep was lonely. Carlisle had neither a wife nor a family, and apart from the few long-standing servants who remained from the old lord's rule, kept little staff. Edward wondered if he missed the hustle and bustle of the life at the Court, where he'd had such a prominent position as a member of the King's Guard, and if he would return there one day, leaving their small village where there was little of interest.

Except for the dragon.

In the spring after his mother's death, when Carlisle first took him in, the woods became a refuge. Fearing that Carlisle would think him ungrateful, he held back the sorrows that welled within until he could run deep into the forest. There he let the sobs take him, mourning for the mother who would never again smooth back his unruly hair and the father who would never toss him high in his arms as though he weighed nothing.

The clearing where he'd met the dragon became his favorite place of solace. Remote and deep within the forest, he never encountered other hunters near it, for he knew then that it was well within the grounds of the King's little used hunting lodge, and thus forbidden to those without royal permission. As the flowers that ringed the clearing began to unfurl, and the green stalks of grass that filled the little meadow grew, he waited for the small dragon to reappear. Dragons hated cold, but he hoped that the warmth of the spring sun might coax the little creature to return.

But it wasn't until summer began, when the sun was bright and high in the sky for long hours and a new King's man came to look for the elusive bird, trundling into the village in an even larger carriage to continue the search, that Edward saw the dragon again.

His studies and work for Sir Carlisle kept his days busier. But from time to time he still slipped away to sit in the comfort of the meadow, and one day he was delighted to emerge from the forest and see it lying in the center of the field, lolling in the warmth of the sun. At the rustle of the grass, the dragon's head popped up, graceful and long, and he was surprised to find that it was bigger. Still not as large as many of the dogs in the village, but its limbs were longer now, and when it unfurled its wings and flapped them, the breeze was stronger.

But the little dragon was as beautiful and playful as ever, its scales shimmering in the sunlight as it romped towards him, caramel eyes blinking as it cocked its head to the side, almost as if to ask if he remembered. He touched the dragon, placing one hand on its graceful neck in greeting as he grinned and then began to run, calling over his shoulder for the dragon to chase him.

In the next few years that followed, as his body grew taller and his limbs became gangly with the awkwardness of adolescence, he relished the days each summer when he could slip away to the meadow. The thought of reporting the dragon, now as large as a small pony with wings that could create a powerful wind when it unfurled them, was something he could not bear to do. He listened in the village for reports of the horrors that dragons had brought in the past, stolen sheep or missing children, but no one else ever reported seeing the beautiful creature.

And neither did he. Although he'd spent most of his life hunting things found plentifully in the forest that were needed for food and warmth, the beautiful dragon, rare and unique and surprisingly defenseless, seemed worthy of protection.

. . .

But the summer that Edward was nearly as tall as Sir Carlisle, and strong enough to lift full sacks of meal on his own, the dragon did not return. He wandered the meadow and surrounding area, returning day after day when he had a moment free, but it appeared as though the dragon were gone for good. He even went so far as to check the barns around the King's hunting lodge, now that the search for the elusive bird had been abandoned and no King's men returned to the village for the summer. But he found no trace.

After that summer, he occasionally thought that perhaps he'd merely dreamed the dragon. For no one else to have seen something so unique seemed impossible.

He listened to the conversations in winter for even a hint or a whisper of the creature as he sat by the fire in the tavern, slowly sipping a pint in an attempt to find some place where he could fit, suspended as he was between the keep and the village, not truly a part of one or the other. Blood chilling stories were told of past hunts, of the few battles one or two of the older men recalled from the days before the current King, when the hordes to the south seemed to be constantly uprising. Surely among such talk of oddities and adventures an encounter with a dragon, no matter how small, would warrant a mention. But no one ever breathed a word of the creature that Edward had played with in the meadow on long summer days.

So years passed, and by the summer he was eighteen, he was as tall and strong as Carlisle, able to wield the sword and shield in a manner that would have made his father proud, yet still skilled with a bow and arrow at hunting stealthily in the woods. And it was that year, after nearly a decade's absence from the Court, that Sir Carlisle announced he would return to the King's Castle for the winter festivities. Edward made the two day's ride to the Capitol by his lord's side.

The Capitol was a place that Edward had visited only a few times with his father when he was small. The long journey had always been an adventure to him, with hours riding in front of his father on his horse and nights camping beside the road with other sojourners moving towards the great city.

The trip that winter felt different. On his own horse now, clean and scrubbed and dressed in the livery that marked him as Carlisle's squire, he felt like an impostor, someone other than himself. A knot grew in his stomach with each clip clip of his horse's hooves that brought them closer to their destination. Carlisle had shown him the matters of etiquette he would need to know while at the Castle, but the thought of being among the King's Court, the members of which he doubted had every slept on the ground, or killed their own dinner, made him feel as though he were being led to a foreign country.

. . .

The King's Court, as he'd feared, was everything that his small village was not. Loud, boisterous, filled with people weary with all the many enticements showered upon them and eager for the next thing that might pique their jaded interest. He watched Sir Carlisle move among the crowd, a man he'd come to respect in the years he had known him for his kindness and compassion. He seemed so ill-suited for the decadence and depravity Edward saw around them, and he found himself questioning why they had made this journey. And then the reason they had come to the Court became clear.

The King's dais sat at the far end of the Great Hall, raised above the floor so that the King could view the entire throng of nobles jostling for location and attention. The only thing higher than the King's throne was a narrow balcony that ran above it, inaccessible to the crowd below. On it sat a dozen young women, all wearing gowns that even Edward, as unused to fashion and frills as he was, could tell were of the finest quality and most expensive materials. At their center sat a girl, younger than him by perhaps a year or two, who wore a sky blue dress and a diadem that twisted about her dark hair and sparkled when she turned her head to speak to the woman seated next to her.

He knew, without being told, that she was the Princess, the King's only child, the one that some in the kingdom called the Ice Princess when they'd been too much in the cups. The Princess was known far and wide as beautiful, but aloof, always separate from the crowd and never mingling in the streets with the common folk. Her life was spent in the Castle, and although she would from time to time make appearances at the Winter Court, she fled the city entirely in the summer months. Edward thought briefly as he watched the girl far above his head, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, that she looked like a trapped bluebird that had flown in a window and seemed unable to find her way out.

As he continued to stare, he realized Sir Carlisle's eyes were also affixed to the balcony, but it was not the young Princess who held his gaze, but the companion seated next to her. Slightly older, and dressed in more somber tones than the rest of the butterflies above, her quiet, sweet expression flickered down to the melee below. For a second her face blossomed like a flower in the noonday sun as Edward watched her eyes fall on his lord. The was an answering softness in Sir Carlisle's face, and Edward understood that it was this woman who had drawn his lord back to the Court. He could only wonder why two people who looked at each other with such longing had remained apart for so long.

His own gaze was drawn back to the Princess, who had also noticed her companion's distraction, and leaned over, whispering in her ear and causing the other woman to color slightly before she unfurled a delicate fan and hid her face behind it. Edward watched the hint of a smile bloom on the face of the Princess, softening the cool demeanor, and he wished he could see what her face would look like if she smiled fully.

Glancing back below, the Princess assessed Sir Carlisle, giving a small nod as if in approval. Then Edward felt his own flesh heat as he realized the Princess's gaze had fallen on him. He stilled, unsure what to do. He was certain that he was supposed to keep his eyes lowered, to bow his head in respect to the Royal Princess already so high above him. Yet he could not resist the urge to peek upward, where he found her face, still and unmoving, staring straight at him with her large, dark eyes. Their gaze held for a long moment until she snapped her head away, rising from her chair and moving behind one of the wall hangings that hid the balcony's exit without another glance in his direction. Her companion, after one last, longing look at Sir Carlisle, followed.

. . .

Later that evening, as he made up the small bed in the side chamber attached to the apartments that Carlisle had been given for his stay, Edward pondered the events of the night. The crush of the crowd, the displays of wealth and flesh on all sides, the sheer waste of the Court made him feel unsettled and longing for home, but he pushed his thoughts aside as he moved to his task of polishing the armor he knew that Sir Carlisle might have need of tomorrow in the winter games. A dozen days of tests of skill and speed and a chance for the best swordsmen in the country to vie for honors and fame were planned, culminating in the mid-winter's eve masked banquet, after which they could return home.

"Enough of that," Carlisle directed, when he noted Edward's diligence. "I shall blind those who face me if you make the sheen even brighter. Come and join me by the fire."

Edward nodded, and put away his tools. He took the warm glass that Carlisle offered, sitting opposite him by the fire as had become their custom on cold evenings.

"May I ask who the lady is?" Edward said.

Carlisle gave a soft chuckle. "Always so observant. I had hoped my attentions would go unnoticed. Was it that obvious?"

"Only to one who knows you as well as I, I think," Edward replied.

"Her name is Esme, and she is one of the ladies in waiting for the Princess."

"Is that how you know her? From your time here at the Court?"

Carlisle took a sip of his drink and nodded. "When I was part of the King's Guard, each summer the Court would move to the shore, where the King would set up an enormous camp on the edge of the sea. Those lands are well-protected, and there was time for merriment and games. I was young then, new to the Guard, and the ladies in waiting were all free from their duties for the summer, and quick to catch the eye of those of us they fancied."

"Why were they free?" Edward asked. "The Princess, was she not there?" He almost bit his tongue, unsure why he'd even asked.

"The late Queen, before she died, made the King promise that the Princess would return each summer to her home, to the lands of plenty in the north, so that she would never forget her mother's people and customs. So every summer the Princess journeys there, and the ladies remain behind."

Curiosity satisfied, Edward pursued his questioning. "And did you catch the Lady Esme's eye?"

"I did. And she mine." Carlisle smiled sadly. "But she had been promised to another, and though I felt him unworthy of her, I had no grounds to protest. He was from one of the northern families, very powerful and very wealthy. It was before my eldest brother took ill and died, and there was little I could offer to compete as a second son who was likely to serve a lifetime as a member of the Royal Guard. She was married at the end of that summer, too young, but it's often the way here."

Edward's brow wrinkled as he stared deep into the fire. "So why did you choose to return to the Court now?"

"Because my situation has changed. As has hers. Her husband, scoundrel that he was, was killed in a fight over another woman, and the Princess invited her back to the Court this fall. When I heard, I knew that I had to return. This time I will not be so fainthearted in pressing my suit."

. . .

The next few days passed in a blur for Edward. The games were underway, and each day he watched as knights faced off in displays of skilled swordsmanship that he knew were little more than flash and show. He found himself standing to the side of the crowd when not at Sir Carlisle's side, his own sword arm tensing and fist clenching as he saw the openings and places that could be seized in a real display of combat. He assured himself that such contests must be deliberately staged, that those who might be called to lead the men of the kingdom into battle could not be so soft and unskilled. The thought that it might be otherwise, that his father's death had been for nothing but to ensure a peace that supported the fattened nobility who would be useless against any further threat to the people of the kingdom, made him sick inside.

He knew that Carlisle had a plan to distinguish himself in the games and be summoned again to the King's inner circle, with a chance to see and woo the Lady Esme. Edward was not surprised the Sir Carlisle was willing to expend so much effort for his lady's approval. It was apparent, however, as he watched the goings on about him, that such sentiments were not universally shared. The women of the Court, for all their fine furs and silks, were treated little better than cattle as they were bartered about as currency between families, or for those less well-born, to satisfy baser desires.

By the fifth day of contests, Carlisle's superior swordsmanship had indeed raised him to the top of the standings, and Edward found himself walking slightly behind his lord, carrying his sword as he entered the Great Hall for recognition by the King. The days of drinking and feasting has made the crowd that Edward found overwhelming on the first night even more unruly, and he turned away in disgust from the sight of a young girl, not much older than the Princess herself, baring her breasts to a man surely old enough to be her father as he dribbled wine from a cup across her tender flesh.

The King sat on his dais above the din and the noise. Carlisle wound his way through the crowd, eyes from time to time flickering to the balcony above, as he made his way to his liege. Edward also dared a small glance skyward, and he saw that the Princess sat much as she had before, clad in another blue dress, this one so light it was almost the color of a fresh snow, the royal diadem that encircled her forehead as cold and icy above her brow as she was reported to be.

Her face was pale, and she sat stiffly, ignoring the catcalls and curses that drifted from below, her eyes affixed to the windows high above that offered illumination to the Great Hall in the daylight. The colored bits of glass that glowed so in the sun's rays, depicting the victory that placed her father on the throne the same year the Princess was born, seemed dull and sinister by the candlelight and torches that danced everywhere around them.

The Princess reminded him tonight not of the colorful bluebird he imagined the first day he saw her, but more of a trapped nightingale, caught in its gilded cage with nowhere to go.

As they moved closer to the throne, he realized she had noticed his unabashed stare. She was so far above him that it was something like staring at one of the marble carvings that adorned the outside of the Castle, and yet he found himself entranced by her figure. The Princess leaned forward, ever so slightly, and inclined her head. Edward felt an odd warmth at her acknowledgement of his presence, however brief.

Then the spell was broken as her face disappeared from view, and he found himself kneeling behind his lord at the feet of the King. His hands shook slightly as he grasped the sword hilt and waited for the command to rise. Head low, he listened to the exchange, to Carlisle's careful and cultured speech framing his request, and to the King's amusement in his lord's interest in Lady Esme. Anger unfurled in him at the King's questioning, almost baiting of Sir Carlisle as to why he would not prefer a young, fresh girl, rather than a used bit of goods to take to his bed, but he bit his tongue as his lord parried the insults without angering the king, stressing his lowly holdings and the advantages of such a match with her family line as reason.

A new band of nobles burst into the back of the room, and the King's attention wandered, obviously bored with the suit laid before him. With a casual wave, he granted Sir Carlisle his blessing, and decreed that he would perform the marriage himself on the final day of the feast. Edward chanced a glance at the King as they moved away, and he was surprised at how dissolute and dishelved was the reality of the man whose visage looked so noble and noteworthy on each coin in the kingdom.

He could not help but question what other illusions would be shattered by the time they left the city.

. . .

Carlisle had been mysteriously absent for much of the remainder of the night, and over the next few days Edward found himself with much time on his hands as his lord courted the lady he hoped to wed in such a short time. He found himself wandering out from the Castle, into the crowded streets and markets of the city. Even with the crush and push of the crowd, he still felt lighter than he had within the confines of the Castle, and his chest eased even more when he finally made his way to the gates of the Capitol.

Perhaps it had been the fear of attacks in the past that had stopped settlement in the surrounding area, but the land outside the walls was nearly untouched, and the reach of the forest so close that Edward could not resist the allure. He made his way towards the familiar setting. At the edge of the woods, he breathed a deep sigh and let himself follow the course of a small stream that flowed from beneath the cover of the forest.

He lost track of time, the fall of his feet on the leaf carpeted ground the only sound as he walked, following the stream as it wound and twisted its way higher. He knew that he was climbing, but the ascent was gradual, and he was surprised to find himself high above the city, looking down on the hustle below from his perch on the large hill.

A voice behind him made him start and clutch at his sword, until a soft tinkling laugh put him at ease.

"Relax, Edward. It is Edward, is it not?"

He turned and drew a sharp breath as the realization of who stood before him settled over him. Immediately he bowed his head and lowered his eyes, then dropped to one knee.

A soft hand touched his shoulder. "There's no need for that now. You've never knelt for me before."

His face colored with embarrassment at her pointed references to his failure to show the proper respect a Princess was due when he'd so blatantly stared at her on her balcony high above.

"My lady, I apolo-"

The soft hand drifted to his chin, and her touch caused his voice to die away. "Do not kneel before me, Edward. And I have a name that I'd like for you to use. Please call me Bella."

He kept expecting members of the King's Guard to emerge from the thicket around them to drag him away and throw him in the dungeons beneath the Castle for daring such familiarity with the Princess. But all that faced him was her, her dark hair flowing around her face free of the circlet that normally confined her locks, and her eyes, a golden brown that seemed oddly familiar, meeting his.

"Bella," he managed to whisper, and something in his chest unfurled in warmth as her face bloomed in a smile.

"Yes," she said. "Thank you. Would you accompany me on my walk?"

He scrambled to his feet, still trying to understand how the Princess had come to be deep within the forest above the city, when he noticed the door set into the side of the hill. She followed his gaze and nodded.

"Many years ago, long before my father, one of the keepers of the crown believed that there should be other ways to leave the city in case of attack. Most of those tunnels have been destroyed and have fallen into disrepair, but I found this one when I was still a child, and it has remained my secret for many years now." She smiled at him. "And now it is yours. You can keep a secret, can't you, Edward?"

He nodded, although it seemed more of a statement than a question, and fell in step beside her. "My lady-" He broke off at her pointed look and started again. "Bella, how do you know who I am?"

"Your lord is the man diligently wooing away my favorite lady in waiting, is he not? My dear Esme has only recently returned to me after the fortunate demise of her oaf of a husband, and he wishes to take her away again."

He did not think that she seemed as angry as her words implied, so he ventured another question.

"Do you not approve of the match? Your father has agreed-"

"My father and I do not agree on many things, but on this we are in accord. Sir Carlisle seems a fine man, and his devotion to Esme is apparent. It is a rarity, and I know that he will make her happy, something that she well deserves."

Edward nodded. "He will. He has waited a long time, I think, for her."

The Princess parted a bush, exposing a path that he had not noticed before. "And what about you, Edward?"

"Me?" He was puzzled by the question.

"Yes. Do you have a young maiden who waits patiently for your return in your village?"

The idea was so ludicrous that he couldn't quite stop the small snort of laughter that escaped him. "I'm afraid I have little to offer any such woman. No home, other than what Sir Carlisle provides, no real trade, but for the ability to fight." He held his hands out in front of him, looking at the rough skin a bit ruthfully. "Even in the times of peace we now have, few woman care to bother with marrying a man good for little but to be a soldier."

The Princess paused ahead of him on the path, her tail of her long braid of hair swinging against the small of her back, and he realized that she was attired in a set of men's breeches that sat snugly on her hips. He ripped his eyes away from the rounded flesh outlined beneath the sturdy cloth, more arousing than the dozens of heavily powdered bosoms he'd seen flaunted the night before, and clenched his hands, trying to not think about the swell he felt rising in his own pants at the sight.

He almost walked into her in his preoccupation, halting just in time as she turned, her eyes appraising. "So have you found one of the ample ladies available at the court to your liking then? Many of them are fond of men who know well how to wield their sword, or so I've been told."

There was a bite to her tone and the way she said sword made his cheeks flush, but he shook his head, meeting her eyes.

"Although there are many beauties at the King's Court, I prefer to fix my gaze on things above."

A smile played at the edge of her mouth, the slightest lift that revealed a hint of a dimple in her soft cheek. She gave a small laugh and turned to lead the way again, calling over her shoulder, "A pious man, eh?"

He didn't bother to correct her, but followed instead. After a short walk, the trail ended by the side of a large rock that overhung a pool that had formed in a dip of the stream, the rush of the water stilled by the depths leaving a smooth and quiet surface beneath the stone. The Princess nimbly pulled herself to the top of the rock, settling at the edge and waiting until Edward followed. At her motion, he sat beside her, staring down into the water below.

A comfortable silence fell between them, and he closed his eyes as the warmth of the midday sun heated the rock and chased the winter chill from the air. A calm that he hadn't experienced since they'd reached the city washed over him, and he couldn't be certain if it was the familiarity of the forest or the quiet rhythm of the rise and fall of the breath of the Princess beside him that lulled him so. He found himself hoping that it would last a little longer. He tried not to dwell on the fact that the Princess, the only daughter of the king, sat alone and unguarded beside him, and that were they to be discovered alone together in the forest, he would quite likely be killed. He'd seen the evidence of the King's punishments around the city, bloodied heads and severed limbs a harsh reminder of the consequences for failing to follow the King's every edict.

Yet in the peace of the moment, he couldn't quite bring himself to rise from the rock or even to muster up fear of the consequences.

"This is one of my favorite places," she said, breaking the silence as she leaned closer to the edge of the rock and stared down at her reflection in the water. He leaned forward as well, and was startled as the Princess pulled back abruptly, dislodging a pebble that shattered the stillness of the water and sent rings of ripples expanding across the pool.

"What is your favorite place, Edward?" she asked. "Back home, in your village, do you have a spot you like to go to?"

The meadow instantly rose to his mind, although he had not been in some months. Despite the number of years since he'd seen the dragon, he still slipped away at least once each summer to spend an afternoon there, lying in the tall grass and staring at the blue sky above. And although he had never spoken of it to anyone, he found himself wanting to tell her.

"I do. It's a small clearing, deep in the forest, a little meadow. In the spring, there's a tiny blue flower that blooms there, right around the edges, almost like a magic ring that keeps the meadow safe. And in the summer, the grass grows tall and sways in the wind. It makes a beautiful noise, that grass, so soft that it seems as though it just teases at your ears. Sometimes I just lie there, in the middle of that grass, and watch the clouds in the sky move overhead, and for those few minutes, everything in the world is right."

He stopped abruptly, embarrassed by his sudden loquacity and the foolish sort of nonsense he was spouting, even if it was how the meadow and its memories made him feel.

"You make me want to visit your meadow," she said. "It does sound magical." Her long hair began to unravel from its braid as she played idly with the end. "Do you believe in magic, Edward?"

He frowned. "The old magic? The kind that caused trees to talk and men to be transformed into animals at the whim of a mage? I've heard the tales of course, and my mother-" his voice broke a bit, "-she always believed that the old magic would come back one day. Sometimes I think it's only tales meant to frighten people and keep them in line." He thought about the stories of dragons he'd heard as a child, and the reality he'd seen. "But perhaps the stories were true. Once upon a time."

"Once upon a time," she echoed. She glanced at the sky, the sun now dipping lower. "The daylight will be gone soon. I'm afraid I must return now, before they discover me missing."

He nodded and slid from the rock, turning to offer his hand to her as she sat at the edge, her legs dangling above the ground. She looked at him, as though unsure whether to take his hand, and he flushed, starting to drop the offending limb and cursing himself for his foolishness to think that a Princess would ever wish for assistance from a commoner such as himself. But her hand curling around his stopped him, and he looked up into the first full and bright smile he'd ever seen grace her countenance.

"Thank you," she said, steadying herself against him as she slid to the ground. "Will you be able to find your way back to the city the way you came?"

He nodded and then, as the warm flesh of her palm continued to press against his, gathered his courage to speak. "Do you come here often?"

"When I can slip away, most afternoons," she said. "If you care to walk with me again, I would like that."

"As would I."

. . .

She was true to her word, and in the slack of the afternoons that followed, after the various games and jousts of the morning and the large lunch that left those involved in the celebration sluggish and sleepy, he found her sitting outside the door to her secret tunnel, staring idly down at the movement in the streets far below.

They would walk to the stream and sit on the rock, their conversations for the most part inconsequential, but he found himself looking forward to the noon bell and the chance to escape up the mountain. The change in her demeanor was marked when she sat by his side. Her face was smooth and her hair simpler than any girl in the village. She was a far cry from the stone faced beauty on the balcony each night, whose mystery and remoteness served to generate wild speculation below.

Edward found himself hard pressed to stop himself from harming one man who, while deep in his cups, began to recount the ways he'd thaw the icy Princess if he could get her down from her perch. Most merely found her aloofness offensive. There was some speculation that she was being punished for some transgression, while others insisted that she resembled her dead mother too much, and the very sight of her caused the King great pain. Edward was simply glad that she remained above the mob, secure and safe.

A few days before the final feast that would mark the end of the winter festival, he arrived at the top of the hill to find only a closed door buried beneath the leaves and no Princess. A lump of disappointment knotted in his stomach, hard and tight, and Edward sat in the dirt, watching the merchants hurrying towards the market below with items for purchase in the afternoon sales. As the day began to slip away, and the knot grew tighter, the realization of just how important his afternoon visits with her had become settled over him, with the tandem understanding that in only two days time he would follow Sir Carlisle and his new bride from the city, perhaps never to return. And never to see her again.

He stood abruptly, silently cursing himself for his foolishness in such thoughts and emotions. To even allow himself to feel tender towards her, to even daydream of any more than the kindness she had shown him in these brief stolen moments was lunacy of the highest order.

But such knowledge did not make his heart beat any less quickly that night as he watched her on the balcony above, her face more frozen than ever until she caught sight of him, standing below in the shadows. For one brief moment he saw her eyes lighten and the corners of her mouth lift slightly, before one of her ladies pulled her away.

. . .

On the final day of the Winter Feast, when the largest and most elaborate of the banquets was to take place, and the marriage of Sir Carlisle and Lady Esme was to be performed by the King, the knights ceased their tournaments, and Edward found himself in the center of a crowd, his grip on his sword tight despite the sweat rolling down his back.

Several of the lords had suggested a mini-tournament of squires, and though he'd been loath to participate, he'd acquiesced lest his refusal reflect poorly on his lord and all he had done for him. He'd known that the training of both his father and Carlisle has given him the mastery he needed to handle himself in battle, but he was surprised by the ease with which he'd dispatched the competitors placed against him. When the final fight was complete, he heard the cheers of the crowd, and felt the clap of Sir Carlisle's hand on his shoulder, raising his arm in victory as the bells tolled the noon hour.

And all he could think of was that this was the last day he might see the Princess.

Accepting the congratulations and dodging the more amorous adulations of some of the ladies in the crowd, he begged Carlisle's leave until the evening's banquet. Barely taking the time to shed his armor, he hurried through the city streets and out the gate.

Surely she would be there today.

He stopped to catch his breath at the top of the hill, unable to hide his smile as he saw her sitting outside the door in the hillside.

She stood before he could reach her, cupping her ear. "You may wish to make a bit more noise running up the hill, Edward. I think there may be a few sleeping bears that did not hear you."

Even her gentle teasing could not dampen his mood. "I was afraid I would miss you. Today is-"

"Today is your last day here," she finished for him, her own voice faltering. "I am sorry that I was absent the last few days. Sometimes I am unable to get away."

"It's fine, Bella," he said, following her as she led them onto the now familiar path. Her name on his lips still seemed foreign, yet sacred. "I'm glad that you were here today. I wanted, that is, I had hoped to be able to see you again before we left."

She climbed the rock, staring down at him with her honey brown eyes. "You see me every night, Edward."

He felt a flush rise to his face as he lifted himself onto the rough surface beside her. Words he knew he should not say tumbled from his lips. "I do see you. But that beautiful bird in its gilded cage isn't the one that found me in the woods."

Forcing himself to meet her eyes, prepared for a reprimand or worse for such remarks, he found instead that her eyes had welled with tears.

Without thinking, he touched her cheek, catching the drop of liquid that began to spill. "No, Bella, please don't cry. I didn't mean-"

She caught his hand and pressed it against her face, and he felt how smooth and perfect her skin was beneath the coarse and calloused flesh of his hand.

"No, you are exactly right. I am just that, a creature imprisoned. And I so long to be free." Her hands carried his to her lap, and she held him, her soft, small fingers tracing his palm. "You won the squire's tournament today."

Surprised and distracted by her touch, he could only nod.

"It was nothing," he finally said.

She shook her head. "Don't undersell your strengths, Edward. You are a magnificent swordsman, and I am certain that my father will wish to recruit you into the King's Guard, that is, if Sir Carlisle will let you go."

The thought flooded through him then, that even if he found the Capitol distasteful in every way, such a position would allow him to remain, to be close to her.

"You must turn him down though, Edward, when he asks."

He stilled the movement of her hand, his chest tight at the obvious implication that she did not have the same wish for him to remain.

"May I ask why, Princess?"

He'd avoided her title since the first day as requested, but he felt the need to increase the distance from her as he withdrew his fingers and sat back. She was undeterred however, leaning forward as she tucked her legs beneath her to match closer to his height.

"Because, Edward, you are the sort of thing that the Court finds amusing, that it likes to play with and use up until there is nothing left of it. And you are far too good for that to happen to." She moved closer. "So while I will miss you, I far prefer to think of you sitting in your meadow, listening to the whisper of the long grass, then rotting away here with all of the carcasses of the Court."

He turned his head and found her face so close to his that his nose almost touched hers. He'd never kissed a woman before, but the sight of her soft pink lips so close to his sent a stab of fierce want through him to know what they would feel like. Time seemed to freeze as they sat with eyes locked, breathing in tandem. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward and felt the brush of her warm flesh against his.

It was gentle, the barest of touches, until he tilted his head and pressed again, enchanted by the swell of the plush of her lips and the shocks that seemed to run along his body. Their mouths continued a soft communion that he didn't want to end. At last she pulled back, her lips darker and beautifully swollen from their kisses, but her eyes were troubled. He couldn't help but cup her face again.

"Edward?" she asked, his name a question. "Would you do something for me?"

"Anything," he replied with certainty.

"If I asked you, if you knew that it was the only thing that could save me, would you . . ." She trailed off, then seemed to gather herself. "Would you kill me?"

Her request was the farthest from anything he could imagine, and he instantly shook his head. "Bella, no."

She seemed to have regained her nerve, however, and he found his face held firmly between her hands. "Edward, do you love me?"

He caught his breath, but no sooner had she asked the question that he knew with utter certainty the answer. "I do."

"Then you must do as I ask. Please, Edward, if you do love me, then promise me that you will kill me. You'll know when the time is right."

He recoiled, pulling away from her. "Bella, why would you ask that of me?"

Her eyes were solemn as she spoke. "Because it is only the one who truly loves me who can free me from my cage."

. . .

The Princess had been correct. Shortly after Edward had returned to the Castle, he had received a summons from the King as the tournament winner to attend the feast and dancing that night, and to join the Guard. Attired in his finest livery for Sir Carlisle's wedding ceremony, he had followed Carlisle towards the Great Hall, emptier than he had ever seen it. The wedding of a lesser nobleman seemed to hold little entertainment value for those seeking sleep or other amusements before the night's festivities. But she was there, sitting in the center of her balcony and smiling down at the Lady Esme, who moved swiftly to Carlisle and clasped his hands.

Edward couldn't help but be grateful for his position to the side of the King's throne, where he could view the Princess unobserved. Her smile was constant, but he could see that her eyes were sad as she watched her favorite lady in waiting speak the words that would bind her to Sir Carlisle and take her away from the Castle again.

The King wasted little time at the conclusion of the ceremony in demanding Edward's answer to his invitation. He found his throat dry and himself at loss for words to refuse the King. Carlisle's diplomacy saved him as he made an eloquent case for how needed Edward's assistance in the village was, now that Carlisle would desire time to devote to his new bride. The King, amused, had finally acquiesced and told Carlisle he could keep Edward for the time.

The knot in Edward's stomach drew tight at the discussion about his person that flew back and forth and around him as though he were not there, merely an object to be traded at the whim of those with power. At a crucial moment, when it appeared that Carlisle's persuasion would be unsuccessful, he'd mustered his courage and almost opened his mouth to add his protest that he did not ever wish to be a part of the Guard.

And then he caught sight of her, leaning at the edge of her balcony and staring at him. She gave a small shake of her head, and he bit his tongue, knowing that she was correct. He was not nearly so silver-tongued or skilled with words as his lord and his refusal might well have ended with something worse than service in the Guard.

The beginnings of the feast marked the end of their audience with the King, and the night seemed endless to Edward as more food than would feed the village for an entire year was laid out and barrels of wine were freely consumed, making the crowd louder and more boisterous than on any night previous. Finally, just at the stroke of midnight, masks were produced for the dancing to begin.

A young woman in a dark hood and mask that shielded her identity, but not her breasts, pressed herself to him and gave him a mask, simple and black, that she attempted to slip over his head. He took the mask, but extricated himself from her grip and whispered suggestions, slipping it over his face as he edged his way towards the door of the Great Hall.

His livery that he'd worn for the wedding ceremony made his identity obvious. With a quick glance about, he removed his coat, leaving him only in his simple white shirt and dark breeches and blending in with the hundreds that crowded the Hall, voices loud above the frantic thrum of the music. The heat and press of bodies overly perfumed made it hard for him to draw breath, but he pushed forward to his destination to view her on the balcony above. But the spot where Bella always sat with her ladies was deserted, and disappointment washed over him.

Had she descended to the floor below to join with the others as just another anonymous dancer? Had she retreated within the Castle, far away from the madness in the Great Hall below? The memory of her kiss on his lips, and the intensity of his eyes when she'd ask him to do the unthinkable haunted him, and he wished he could see her again, just once more before they departed.

Edward threaded his way through the crush, finding an opening and slipping behind a tapestry to a small doorway he'd noticed the servants using as they delivered the feast. A long narrow hallway ran the length of the hall, and he moved swiftly down it, dodging a pair intertwined against the wall. Spying a wooden door near the end of the hall, he opened it and sucked in a deep breath of cool air as he emerged into the garden that stood at the rear of the outer courtyard.

He'd passed through the elegant, manicured garden once, not long after they first arrived, but the transformation of the setting for the final feast was breathtaking. Edward found himself mesmerized by the complexity and the artistry of the decorations. Beautiful sculptures of mythical creatures had been carved from large blocks of ice, and lit candles were set about to create a path that led one through the sculptures to the final creation - an enormous dragon set before a large mirror, so that an individual could view themselves in the monster's frozen clutches. It had been the topic of much discussion throughout the night, but it appeared that the dancing had outweighed the lure of the chilled exhibit and he found himself alone among the displays.

Edward walked closer to the first of the sculptures, one he recognized as a mermaid. Her head was thrown back, eyes shut in ecstasy so real that Edward almost turned away from the rawness on display in the alluring form.

"She is beautiful enough to lure men to their death, isn't she?"

The voice was familiar, but when he turned, he almost didn't recognize her. Gone were both the reserved Ice Princess who sat on high and the uncomplicated girl who climbed on rocks in trousers. Her hair was caught up in a series of intricate swirls that climbed higher and higher, with twinkles of what he knew must be jewels flashing in blues and greens against her dark strands. Those colors were repeated in her dress, rich, bold hues shimmering in the candlelight as her skirt swirled about her feet when she moved closer. Her face was covered with a half mask that left only her mouth exposed, a pattern of rippling scales in the same iridescent shades completing her disguise. She was fire now, no longer ice, and he was certain that she could enter the Great Hall and mingle with impunity on this night.

"Not as lovely as you are," he spoke without thought.

Her lips curved into a smile. "I have no wish to lure anyone to their death, Edward. But a dance perhaps?"

There was a yearning in her voice that was unexpected, and despite his confusion about everything from their kiss to her odd request to the ever present knowledge that dawn was growing nearer and his time was almost gone, he found himself stepping closer and extending his arm.

Dancing had been one of the lessons that he'd been tutored in, though he'd always thought it useless until Carlisle told him to think of the counts as steps in a fight. The Princess in his arms caused all thoughts of such steps to flee his head, as he lost himself in the weight of her hand in his, and the press of his hand at her waist. They were moving in time to the faint music which drifted from the Great Hall, slow revolutions and steps that led them deeper among the sculptures, menacingly beautiful as they glistened in the candlelight. Past the talons of the griffin and the wings of the pegasus, he found himself lost in her honey brown eyes, and blaming the wine running through his body, he dared to halt them and lean forward, his lips seeking hers again.

While the kiss of the afternoon had been a revelation, an slow awakening of longing and desire, the touch of her soft skin in the moonlight engulfed him in flames. She pressed forward, her fingers threading into his hair and pulling him closer despite her voluminous skirts. The shawl which had been tucked around her shoulders slipped away as he curled his hand around her neck, her skin growing warmer as their lips grew bolder. He hesitated for only a second before he dared to tease the plumpness of her lower lip with his tongue, swallowing the moan that could have been from either of them as she opened to him.

He could have held her in his arms all night, of that he was certain, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, reveling in the heat of her body and the softness of her curves pressed to him that he could barely resist the urge to touch. At last he pulled back, his breath harsh and ragged as he looked down at her face and wished he could remove the mask that shielded her face.

"I'm glad you found me," he said.

Her lips curved into a smile. "As am I. One kiss was not enough." Her hand crept up and touched his jaw. "Know that I will be thinking of you, when I sit by my stream. And you must think of me, when you visit your meadow. Will you do that?"

"I will." He turned his head, placing a kiss in the center of her palm. "I wish that you could come with me and visit it."

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when she opened them, he could see the trace of a tear. "Perhaps some day. You must take care of yourself, Edward. Journey carefully."

"Do you have to go?" he asked, sensing that she was pulling away, the smile beginning to fade.

She glanced at the sky, which had lightened infinitesimally. "Dawn will come far sooner than we know, and I must be back before the dancing ends and my ladies return."

He drew her close for one last kiss, feeling moisture in his own eyes as she took a step away, a flame of color in a sea of clear crystal.

"Remember what you must do for me if the time should come, Edward."

She turned and ran from the garden. As she passed the final statute, Edward gasped at the reflection of his dragon in the mirror. A trick of the light, he told himself, some combination of the ice dragon, the flickering candles, and the colors of Bella's gown, no doubt.

He walked forward and touched the mirror's surface, staring at the icy reflection looming behind him. He'd face any of these creatures, he realized, if it could only make her his.

. . .

And so, months after that night, Edward stared at a depiction of a dragon once again. Ripping the announcement down, the parchment in his hand felt insubstantial for the weight of what it stood for. He walked quickly through the square and into the open wooden doors of the keep, a sense of purpose returning to his stride.

Where before he'd felt a certain sense of contentment in his quiet life, since their return to the village he'd found himself restless and longing for things he knew would never be within his reach. As the warmth of summer returned and rumors of uprisings to the south reached the village, the looming prospect of war had given Edward equal parts apprehension and excitement. He knew that he could serve in the same manner as his father, and a part of him longed for the distraction, despite Carlisle's insistence that he was needed at his side.

His struggle with whether to stay or go south to find the King's army had been sealed by the prior day's post, which had brought with it a letter to Lady Esme from the Princess that left him with deeper wounds than any battlefield. The King had promised her hand in marriage in only a week's time to the son of the leader of the uprising in exchange for a truce between the lands.

Lady Esme had shared the news at the evening meal and Edward had struggled to keep himself in check until he could flee the keep and find his way through the moonlit forest by pure instinct. He burst into the meadow, where the small bluebells had not yet blossomed and the tender shoots of grass were not tall enough to whisper to him. Sinking to the ground in the spot that had served to comfort him so many times, his fingers had anchored themselves in the stalks as he threw back his head and screamed until his throat was hoarse and his body weary with his despair. Lying in the grass, watching as the moon rose higher in the sky, he'd slipped into an exhausted and restless sleep.

When morning had come, he'd risen from the cold ground, steadying himself as he made a list of all he would need to prepare for his journey to join the King's forces and lose himself in whatever fight might come.

But as he'd made his way back through town, he'd seen the crowd around the sign, the one that promised the thing he wanted most in all the world.

Bella.

And suddenly his path was clear again.

. . .

Carlisle had been generous and understanding, giving him his own suit of armor, and one of the fastest steeds he possessed to outfit Edward for his journey. Lady Esme, tears in her eyes, had begged him to save the Princess, pressing a small ring she said had once belonged to Bella into his hand as a token of luck.

He'd placed the ring on a leather cord around his neck where he could feel the smoothness of the metal warmed by his own skin, as a constant reminder of her.

As he drew nearer the Capitol, the rumors that had been wild and outlandish in the outlying villages grew stranger. The dragon had appeared from nowhere, out of the mountains above the city, wings spread so wide they seemed to block out the sun. It had wheeled and circled above the Castle, its flames scorching the flags flying above the utmost parapets, before disappearing into the mountains again. Citizens from surrounding villages had flocked to the Capitol, crowding its walls in their terror at seeing such a fearsome creature that many had believed to be myth.

But the worst was not discovered until near nightfall after the dragon's first sighting, when one of the ladies in waiting confessed that the Princess, who all had believed to be within the confines of the Castle, had not returned from her daily walk into the mountains. A shoe that had belonged to the Princess was found near the doorway of the long forgotten tunnels, and the consensus was that the dragon had, at best, taken the King's only child. No one wanted to believe the worst.

The notice of the reward had been sent out the next morning to all the villages by the fastest messengers in the land, and knights and soldiers from far and wide began to flood the kingdom, eager for the reward and fame from killing a dragon. News from the south brought reports of dragon attacks there as well, scattering the uprising that had begun and striking fear in the heart of the countryside. Suddenly all anyone could speak of was dragons.

. . .

Edward sat by the campfire in the makeshift village set up near the gates of the Capitol, silently polishing his shield and armor to a high shine as he listened to the other newly arrived brag about their abilities and how they planned to trap and kill the dragon. He was weary, having pushed himself and his horse hard to arrive by nightfall, and he found himself growing angry with the words so freely tossed about, the hubris of all of the men who assumed that a dragon would be slow or easy to defeat. Even though the dragon he had known had been unable to breathe fire or fly, the agility of the creature as it sprinted across the meadow was unparalleled, and he knew that the dragon's graceful long neck and powerful tail could move at whiplash speeds.

The boasting ground to a halt as the sounds of pounding hooves and a frightened whinny signaled the arrival of another traveller. The horse, eyes rolling wildly, staggered to a halt as a man slid from its back, his face blackened and hair singed almost to the scalp. He collapsed after only a few steps, and Edward jumped up, grabbing one of his arms while another hunter supported the other and led him towards pails of water.

Gulping huge swallows, the man's trembling grew less, and he finally caught his breath.

"It can't be beaten," he said, looking around at the group. "It's a monster, and it will kill us all."

Edward listened as the man recounted the party he'd ridden out with that morning. They'd located the creature's lair, a large cave high above the city, and had devised a strategy to try to lure the dragon out and ambush it with a party of nearly twenty men. He had been the only one that survived.

"Its forearms are powerful, massive and equipped with sharp claws that can slice through a man's stomach," he told the crowd who looked increasingly wary. "The flames it breathes makes that campfire seem puny, and its skin glitters like a treasure trove of precious stones, but is so tough, no arrow or sword can penetrate it. One hundred pieces of gold is too paltry a price for the impossible."

There were murmurs among the crowd, both of agreement and disbelief, and Edward listened for only a moment before he turned and threaded his way among the camps to his horse. Patting her neck, he silently saddled her, hoisting himself into the saddle and began the ride into the hills. He wanted to see the beast with his own eyes, see if in fact it was the small dragon that had sat beside him in a meadow far away. A creature he'd allowed to live, to grow, and now to take the woman he loved.

. . .

The dawn was beginning to break when he found the path that led towards the cave high in the side of the mountain that the man had described. Tying the horse securely, he began the climb. There were bodies littering the path, evidence of the dragon's invulnerability, and a chill settled over him. He slowed as he neared the top, veering off the path and climbing a slight incline that gave him a better view of the cave's entrance.

His breath caught as a long neck gracefully emerged, the dragon's eyes immediately turning in his direction, the same honey brown tinged in gold he remembered from so long ago. It was his dragon, without a doubt, though the creature before him was now far larger the stoutest of the King's prized war steeds. It was no longer invulnerable, Edward thought, as a jet of flame erupted from the dragon as it fully emerged, scorching the ground before it.

Was it possible that Bella still lived in that cave? Was it only a fool's errand to think that the dragon would have spared her for any reason?

He scrambled to his feet, suddenly enraged, his arm scrabbling for his sword and the shield he had strapped to his back as his noises attracted the dragon's attention. A part of his mind knew that this was foolish, that he was exhausted, hungry, and ill-prepared to take on a dragon that had easily bested twenty men. But the thought that perhaps Bella might be beyond the beast, frightened and alone, propelled him forward, down the hill and into the clearing before the cave. Everything had a weakness, even dragons.

By the time he planted his feet on level ground, the dragon had reared on its hind legs, wings spread so wide they nearly filled the clearing as its tail surged through the air with a whiplike crack. They faced off, man and beast, and Edward lifted the shield, cradling it against his chest as he stared up into the eyes of the dragon and tried to swallow the fear that threatened to engulf him. He watched as the dragon's jaws opened in a mighty roar, head thrown back. There, just at the base of the dragon's throat, he noted a small soft spot before the shimmering hardened scales began that covered the vulnerable flesh beneath. That was it. His one chance, if he could only reach it.

He was surprised when the dragon dropped its forelegs to the ground, its head dipping lower until it was only feet from him. Nostrils flared, it seemed to scent him, cocking its head to the side as it regarded him with an obvious curiosity.

"Do you remember me?" Edward asked, fighting the tremor in his voice. "I remember you, dragon."

The dragon edged even nearer and Edward resisted the urge to move. Soon it would be within striking distance, and if his aim was true, he could find that spot, plunging his sword upward into the dragon's brain.

"That's right. You came to the meadow in the summer and we played together."

The large head bowed and moved even closer.

"I thought you were beautiful, dragon. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. And I never wanted anyone to harm you."

The dragon was close now, and Edward could feel the heat of its breath as it inched forward, nostrils flaring again. It was almost time. He inhaled, glancing down at his shield, and froze.

He'd expected to see the iridescent shimmer of the dragon's scales reflected back in the polished surface. But instead he saw a pair of large brown eyes, a pale face, and an abundance of dark hair. He jerked his head up, staring into the dragon's familiar eyes, than back down to the reflection.

The shield slid from his nerveless hand as he finally understood. Like a key turning in a lock, the pieces fell into place. Bella didn't need to be saved from the dragon.

Bella was the dragon.

Her words echoed in his ears as though she were speaking to him then. _Please, Edward, if you do love me, then promise me that you will kill me. You'll know when the time is right._

He tightened his grip on his sword as he slowly raised his head, meeting the dragon's tortured eyes with understanding. "This is what you want then? What will save you?"

_It is only the one who truly loves me who can free me from my cage._

He remembered what she had told him as the great creature before him raised her head, baring her throat to him. His breath caught in his throat and he felt tears flood his eyes as he raised the sword.

"Bella, I love you."

He thrust upward, his aim true as he found the yielding flesh and heard the crunch of bone as the blade slid higher and deep within her brain. He felt her body wavering, then a slow slide as she began to crash to her side. Edward stumbled back, barely missing being trapped by one great arm before he tripped on his own shield and fell, his head hitting the hard metal and robbing him of consciousness.

. . .

He awakened to the sensation of warmth and softness engulfing him. With eyes closed, he curled closer to the comforting stroke across his forehead. There was pain there, a dull throb, but the touch soothed it away. He didn't want it to stop.

"Edward? Edward, wake up."

He struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, he was certain he was dreaming. Or dead. It was Bella holding him, her small hands caressing him, the warmth of her body . . .

He jerked upright, suddenly, painfully aware that he was lying in the middle of the clearing, a very alive, very naked Bella cradling his body. She smiled at him, her long hair draping around her body barely shielding her breasts from his view.

"Bella?"

She smiled. "You saved me, Edward. Just as you promised."

He stared at her stupidly, distracted by the creamy flesh that he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from and the fact that Bella was sitting there, seemingly unharmed.

"But I killed you."

She shook her head. "No, you killed the dragon and broke the spell that imprisoned me. The one my true love only could break. I knew that it was you, Edward. From the time we were young, I knew it would be you." She leaned forward, her lips softly touching his.

Edward sighed, enraptured by the exquisite feel of her mouth beneath his and pulled her closer. She gave a small squeak as her bare flesh met the cool metal of his armor. He struggled to his feet, shrugging out of his mail shirt and pulling the shirt from beneath over his head. It was not much, but it would serve as some cover for her.

Bella accepted the shirt gracefully, slipping the too large garment over her head. It fell about her, the thin white cloth doing little to disguise her form, and he felt his heart beat faster.

"Bella, can you explain this to me? I'm afraid I don't understand."

She nodded, but drew his hand into hers, pulling him towards the path. "I will. But we should leave here. There will be others coming soon."

She winced as her foot caught on a stone, and Edward swept her up in his arms, never wanting to let her go.

. . .

The cottage she guided him to, the former home of one of the women who'd worked in the Castle's kitchen, was dusty with disuse. But it was still standing and a shelter from the storm that had risen as they made their way down the mountain by a different path than the one Edward had climbed. He found dry wood and kindling, and prepared a fire, as Bella unrolled the packs from his saddle and laid out a simple meal before them.

As they sat by each other in the tumbledown cottage, with his head still swollen from his fall, and her garbed in nothing by his shirt, he felt more at home than anywhere he'd been since he was eight years old. He felt as though he belonged. With her.

She took a few bites of bread and cheese, and after a sip of water, began to speak.

"When I was born, my father was away fighting in the Great War. I barely remember him until I was nearly four, the year that my mother took ill and died. When he returned from the front victorious to find her dead, he took me in his arms and began to cry.

"It was not until the following year, when the weather began to warm, that I first learned that the tears I had thought were for my mother were for me. My father had feared losing the war, and had bargained with a powerful mage to invoke some of the old magic on his behalf. It had worked and the battle turned in my father's favor, but thinking that he could outwit the mage and avoid the heavy price, my father murdered the man instead.

"He did not realize that the mage had a sister, even more powerful. And as revenge, she cursed his only child to become a monster, so that he would always remember what he had done. For part of the year I was his child, though the mirrors in the castle all gave a constant reminder of what I would become before he removed them. And then, when the weather warmed each year, I became the creature. He spirited me away, had me looked after by a different member of his Guard each summer, sworn to secrecy of course. He executed each of them when we returned."

Edward's eyes widened as he remembered the first summer the man had come to the village. "He killed them all?"

Bella nodded. "He couldn't risk someone finding out. When I became . . .when I transformed, it was as though I could see things, remember them, but I was not in control. But still I begged to return each year to your village for as long as he would let me. It somehow made it more bearable, knowing you would be there."

Edward smiled, remembering the many hours they had spent there.

"I looked for you every summer, even when you no longer came. But why now, Bella? Why reveal the dragon, when you'd hidden for so long?"

Bella took his hand. "My father had always sworn that he would protect me and keep me safe in the Castle, if I would hide what the curse had made me. But when he promised me to the son of the warrior tribe to the south so close to summer when I would change, I knew that he had only been waiting. He saw me as a weapon that he could use, a secret he could unleash on his enemy. So I ran, knowing that my transformation would come soon, and then he would not be able to stop me."

Edward looked at her hand curled in his and clutched it tighter. "And me? How did you know what I should do to free you?"

Bella smiled. "It was the one gift of the witch who cursed my father. That first year I was taken to your village, when I met you in the meadow, an old woman came to the hunting lodge at the end of the summer. The frost had come, and I had just transformed back to myself. I knew right away she was different for she put the guard to sleep with a wave of her hand. She sat me down, made a pot of tea, and told me what I was, and why I was that way. And then she told me that if I could find one man who would do the unimaginable and slay the dragon, not out of fear or hate, but out of love, then I could be freed."

Edward regarded her solemnly, his hand loosening around hers. "And now that you are, what will you do?"

She watched as he began to untangle their fingers. "Spend the rest of my life with you." She blushed a bit and looked away. "That is, if that is what you also wish."

"Why, Princess?" he asked. "Because I freed you? Because I love you?"

Bella stood and moved to his side, touching his face softly. "No, Edward. Because I love you."

. . .

Edward walked into the meadow, the feel of the soft grass brushing his fingertips as he touched the bluebells that framed the clearing. He'd thought them magic, once, some special protection that kept this place so perfect. Who knew, perhaps they were.

The grass rustled and parted across the meadow. He watched as she rose, her hair long and unbound as she ran towards him, arms out as though she could once again fly. He held out his arms and caught her, spinning her around until their lips met.

It was time for them to make some magic of their own.

The End.


End file.
